


one night and a day stand

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, New Years AU, hella fucking messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: Getting snowed in together after sex isn't exactly the most stable way to start a friendship, but they're overachievers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proof read

Her hands twist in his hair. 

His hands slide over her stomach and then take purchase on the sheets. 

Shes about to moan out his name, when she remembers they never introduced themselves. She doesn't take too long to think about that, or anything else. His mouth travels downward and every coherent thought crawls out of her mind. 

Panic seizes her chest when she wakes to someone's arms around her middle. Then the memory of dark curls and the constellation of freckles floods her mind and she finds herself burrowing further into his embrace.   
Which is dumb, because he could be a serial killer and she doesn't even know what name to beg when she's at his mercy. She carefully untangles herself from his hold and climbs out of the bed. She pulls on her robe and marvels at how much it snowed overnight, then heads to the kitchen to make some coffee.   
She manages to drink two cups and get back into bed before he even stirs. And then he still doesn't open his eyes.  
Losing patience over waiting for him to wake up and stay awake herself, she snuggles back into the covers and tries to fall asleep again. It occurs to her that she could wake him up herself and proceed to kick him out of her apartment, but he wouldn't be able to move his car with all the snow and she's simply too lazy.   
A short time later, she feels his weight shift and the bed dip, she hears him sigh and she she has to bite her lip to contain her laugh. When she hears him begin to gather his clothes, she says, "Your car is snowed in, you won't be able to get out until the plows come. And that's not going to be for a while." She then relishes in how he jumps around dramatically and makes a choked noise, he's clearly not as perceptible to breathing patterns as she is.   
"And where are you suggesting I go then?" He says gruffly, yanking on his jeans. God, he really had the whole disheveled look going on for him. His hair is a mess, and he certainly isn't graceful when putting on his clothes, but she wouldn't say no if he climbed back into bed again.   
"You're really gonna make me say it?" She gives him the side eye and grabs her sketch book off the nightstand. She flips to her recent one of the city and begins shading.   
"Say what?"  
She glances at him. "I can't tell if you're joking or not."  
He scowls. "I don't want to impose—"  
"You're not. You can stay here until the roads are cleared. But if you'd rather dig yourself out, you're very welcome to." She gives him a sugary sweet smile.   
His scowl deepens. "Well...thanks." It sounds as if it physically pains him to say that. Truly.  
He clears his throat a couple of times, obviously feeling awkward. She does absolutely nothing to comfort him, just continues to sketch.   
"Can I—uh, make some coffee?" He clears his throat again and crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. Repeat.   
"There's already some is the machine, help yourself."   
His scowl returns, and his voice is gruff when he thanks her.   
It's like he never spent anytime with people, he's had to of, if she recalls correctly he did seduce her quite well at the bar. All cocky and self righteous, which she normally can't stand, but damn did he make it look good.   
"So—uh," oh and there was when introductions would have come in handy.   
"Bellamy." He supplies.   
"Right. Clarke."  
"Nice to meet you."  
Sure it is. "Uh huh. What do you do for a living?"   
Her apartment is of the studio kind, a glorified box really, but it is cheap. And she has a lovely view of Bellamys back when he reaches into the cupboard for a mug.   
"I'm a history professor. You?"  
"Art major and painter."  
She feels slightly insulted when he blows into the cup to get rid of any lingering dust, she was an artist, not a slob.   
"Are these all your pieces then?" He gestures to the canvases leaning against the wall in rows.   
"Yeah, but my really good ones are in a museum." She says wittily, and she swears the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly.   
And then the conversation stalls. Complete stop. Awkwardness overload. He, of course, sips his coffee without a care in the world.   
She stands. "I'm going to take a shower."   
Feel free to join me.   
He nods once. "Have fun."  
Or you know what, stand there and look clueless, much better.   
She sincerely hopes he's looking at her ass as she walks away.   
It's a great ass.   
She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she covers her mouth so her gasp doesn't escape. Her hair is stuck up in every different direction and hickeys scatter across her neck and down her chest.   
"Jesus." She lets her fingers dance across the bruises and revel in how many there are.   
"At least he can use his mouth for something." 

She takes her time in the shower, no need to rush back to the awkward silence. But she's slightly afraid of becoming a human prune, so she turns it off after 20 minutes and begins to towel dry.   
He's reading when she steps out, towel around her body, because stupid her forgot to grab clothes.   
He glances up, and his eyes run over her curves before quickly looking back at his book. Good.   
She pulls on a hoodie and leggings, runs her fingers through her hair and doesn't bother with makeup. He's already seen the smudged mess she is in the morning, there's really no coming back from that. Unfortunately.   
In an act of confidence, she plops down next to him on her sofa.   
"What's your favourite show?" She asks, flipping through the channels.   
She breathes a little easier when he closes his book without hesitation.   
He slouches and puts his feet up on the coffee table.   
"Through the ages."   
"On the history channel?" She blurts, she hates that fucking channel.   
He scowls. "It's educational."  
"It's boring, is what it is." She says under her breath.   
"You're the one who asked." He says with a bite in his voice. She suppresses the shiver that dances down her spine.   
She composes herself before answering. "Fine. We will watch your educational show now, but we're going to watch a dumb ditzy show that I like afterwards."  
A muscle in his jaw flutters. "Fine."  
She smirks, happy that she got her way, and settles in. She's sure she's imagining it when he snuggles a little closer to her. There must be a draft or something. 

She'll admit, begrudgingly, that it isn't the worst show in the world. But she shouts with joy when it's over anyways, for Bellamys sake of course. Around three, they decide they're hungry and Clarke raids her fridge to find something edible.   
"I usually do take out." She grumbles, cringing as she pulls some brown lettuce from a drawer.   
"You got pasta?"   
She furrows her brow. "Probably, yeah."  
"And chicken? And parmesan?" He begins to route through the cupboards himself and spills all the ingredients onto the counter.   
"Get me a pot." He pauses. "Please."  
She bites her tongue to contain her smile and trucks off to find him a pot. 

After squabbling about every last detail, down to how much salt they should add, it turns out to be a very decent meal.  
There's even a garnish on top of her pasta.   
"How did you learn to cook?" She asks, shoveling in another mouthful.   
He swallows, and the tips of his ears turn pink. "I, um. I looked after my sister when I was younger. Pretty much all the time. And we had to eat, so I just kind of, learned."  
She cocks her head. "Just added this and that until it tasted good?"  
The corner of his mouth quirks, like he's fighting a smile. "Yeah, something like that."

They watch movies for the rest of the day, Bellamy pointing out every detail that isn't historically accurate, Clarke hitting him with a pillow and telling him that he's ruining the movie. ("How can you enjoy something so wrong? Oh my god! Did you see that! It's the Middle Ages and they have guns! What the fuck kind of movie is this, Clarke?" "I don't care. I don't care I don't care!") She dozes off for a short time, leaning against his shoulder for support. He lets her.   
She wakes to find him slinging his coat on, the plows must have finally come.   
"Leaving so soon?" She asks, stretching out her arms.   
He smirks. "Thanks for, um, everything."   
"Anytime." She jumps up. "I'll see you out."  
There's an uneasy moment at the door, as much as he annoys her, she had a good time. She doesn't really want to say goodbye.   
He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles awkwardly.   
"Goodbye, Clarke." He stoops down and kisses her cheek.   
She smiles, despite her best efforts. "Goodbye, Bellamy."

 

She'd love to say that she never thought about him again, but her mother taught her that lying is bad taste.   
Raven, her best friend, kicks her drunkly. "Stop moping. You're making drinking no fun."  
"Stop giving me bruises and maybe I'll consider it." She snaps without any heat. Raven kicks her again.   
"The Finnident happened months ago, what's wrong." She says it like a statement, not a question, to leave no room for arguing.   
Clarke sighs. "I just need to get laid."  
The brown haired girl immediately brightens. "Why didn't you say so? We will find you a looker, come on." She drags her off her stool and onto the dance floor, where Clarke gets a glimpse of dark curls. Her heart makes a loud thump in her chest.   
But then the man turns around, and her hearts sinks when she doesn't recognize him.   
This is ridiculous, Bellamy isn't acting like this. He's probably had an infinite amount of girls in his bed since her, the thought of it makes her skin hot. She doesn't even know his last name, she's not in love with him, she should be living her life.   
She turns to Raven. "Ok, let's find a looker."

They find Lexa. A brown haired girl with beautiful eyes and a sharp jaw. Lexa teases the fabric of her shirt and lets her mouth graze Clarke's ear. "Do you want to come to my place?"   
She nods eagerly.   
Sex with Lexa is different, she's demanding and deliberate. Surprisingly, her bossiness turns Clarke on. Immensely.   
Minutes after finishing, Clarke begins to pull on her clothes.   
"You don't want to go for another round?" Lexa bites her lip and watches Clarke dress with hunger in her eyes.   
"I'd love to, but I have work tomorrow."   
Lexa gives her a look that says she doesn't believe her.   
"If you must." She says, then climbs to edge of the bed and pulls her in by her scarf. Lexa gives her a lingering kiss that leaves her head spinning.   
"Lock the door on your way out would you?" Another peck, then she darts away and throws the covers over herself.   
Clarke hears her soft snores as she leaves the apartment. 

It's chilly outside, and she tugs her scarf tighter around herself. She passes her favourite bookstore and ducks inside, hoping to find a distraction in the words. She buys three books about Norse Mythology, and begrudgingly steps back into the cold.   
"Bellamy?" She comes to a dead stop at the sight of him. Eyes rimmed red, hair long and straggly, tears tracks left on his cheeks. He stinks of alcohol. He looks at every thing but her. His shoes, the store sign above them, her shopping bag.   
"Bellamy, what's wrong?" She steps closer to him, and he flinches away, she stops.   
"Bellamy—"  
"Can't you mind your own goddamn business?" He growls and shoves past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She calls out his name again, but he's already gone. She shoves her hands into her pockets, embarrassment creeping up her neck while a ball of self hatred settled in her stomach. She tries to ignore the realization that while she couldn't stop thinking about him, he wanted nothing but to rid her from his mind. 

"Raven, do I have to go?" She whines into the phone. Raven is throwing a new years party, and had basically invited the whole city. Clarke has no interest in making small talk and pretending not to be miserable. But Ravens relentless.   
"Of course you do! It's going to be the talk of the year! And Monty's bringing his new boyfriend, you want to meet him don't you?"   
Ah, guilt, how lovely.   
She twirls a piece of hair around her finger, contemplating. After a few long minutes, she sighs.   
"I'll be there."  
Raven squeals. "Yes! Oh it's going to be so much fun!"  
So much fun. Yay. 

Ok, it's really not that bad. There's alcohol, or at least, she thinks it is. Monty and Jasper probably made it in their toilet, but she can't bring herself to care. It's making all her troubles slip away, and that's all she cares about.   
The decorations look cheap and worn out, but at least there's no mistletoe. Why does every holiday have to involve some sort of kissing tradition? Who ever thought of them must have been really hard up. She giggles as a mental image of a founding father scheming on how to get laid enters her mind. She's still giggling when Raven slides up beside her.   
"Enjoying yourself?"   
"Oh definitely." She nods enthusiastically.   
"Good. Because Monty and his boyfriend are here, and the friend they brought is glowering at everything. It's really bringing me down."  
"Aw, sweetums." Clarke pats her hair.   
Raven makes a disgusted sound and rolls her eyes. "Let's go, sir pets a lot."  
"I actually prefer duchess." Her laugh turns to a choking noise when she spots Monty, or rather who he's standing with.   
"Clarke! This is my boyfriend Miller and his best friend—"  
"Bellamy." Her high spirits are suddenly doused in bitter anger.   
"You two know each other?" Raven says with a furrowed brow.   
"Hardly." Bellamy retorts, nostrils flared. What right does he have to be angry? He's the one that ran off without a explanation. He's the one that—she quickly banishes the thoughts. She came here to have fun, and that's what she'll do. She takes a breath, then plasters on a smile.   
"It's so nice to meet you, Miller. Hope you have a good time." She throws one last glare in Bellamys direction before spinning on her heel and heading in the direction of the drinks.   
Raven is right behind her.   
"What the hell was that! I thought you two were gonna—" she claps her hands together and smashes one into the other.   
Clarke chugs a whole glass of vodka, it burning all the way down, before answering.   
"It's nothing. We just—uh, we just don't get along." She hesitates in telling Raven about the hook up, she's not in the mood for teasing.   
"Seemed like a lot more than nothing to me." She mutters, before skipping off to her girlfriends side.   
Clarke continues to nurse her drink, staying to the edge of the party. She didn't particularly like to dance, neither was she talented at it. She's starting to sway with the amount of beer she's slugged down when Harper begins to pull at her arm.   
"What? What what what." Clarke says, refusing to move.   
"Come on! We're gonna play seven minutes in heaven!" She tugs on her arm impatiently, and finally she stops resisting. Harper leads her to the middle of the living room, where she's assuming the game is being played. A pretty girl named Mona is talking to the group.   
"I'm guessing everyone knows how to play, but in case you've been living under a rock, I'll explain.  
"We all put our names in a hat, and then I will pick out two names. Those two people have to go into the closet and—well, you get the idea." Monas eyes seemed to linger on Bellamy through out her speil. Clarke feels a twinge of something that she refuses to call jealousy.   
"Names in!" Mona exclaims, rushing around the room to collect them all.   
She pulls out two girls named Savannah and Leah out first. Then a boy named Jake is paired with Jesebelle. Couple after couple gets drawn, but Clarkes name stays unspoken.   
After what feels like an eternity, Mona pulls out two slips of paper and glances at Clarke.   
"Clarke and ... Bellamy." She says his name with a pinch of disappointment, Clarke notes with satisfaction. Their friends whoop and usher them into the closet, then lock the door from the outside. She takes a deep breath, facing him. "We don't have to—"  
But the words are stolen from her mouth as he pushes her against the wall and fits his lips to hers. His hands ruck up her shirt and ghost over her skin, where goosebumps have risen. She doesn't react at first, basically frozen in shock, but as his confidence stutters and he begins to pull away, her hands catch up with her brain and she pulls him back in forcefully. He breathes naughty things in her ear, kissing down the column of her throat and teasing his hands along her waist. She feels like a inexperienced teenager, with how she's gasping and clinging to his shirt.   
"Clarke." He whispers, nipping her ear.   
"Mm-hmm?" She manages.   
"I—"  
The door bangs open and light floods the room. They both squint against it.   
"Bellamy."  
"What?"  
"Please remove your hands from under my shirt."  
He quickly yanks himself away and strides out of the room as if his tongue hadn't just been down her throat.   
"Asshole." She mutters, walking past Mona with her head held high.  
How is she supposed to forget about Bellamy when he keeps fighting for her attention? When he keeps whispering things in her ear, then rushes away, leaving her gaping like an idiot? Anger rises in her again, even though she's metaphorically powerless against what he does to her. It's getting ridiculous.   
And annoying.   
"Have fun in heaven?" Raven bumps her hips with her own and crunches a chip.   
"Oh, it was glorious." She rolls her eyes and tries not to blush.   
Raven gives her a look that says she's full of shit, and Clarke tries not to meet her gaze.   
"I like him."   
Her nostrils flare. "You date him then."  
"I would, if he'd stop staring at you for five seconds."  
She rolls her eyes. "More like glaring." But she can't seem to stop herself from glancing around the room, trying to locate him. She doesn't find him, maybe he went home. Good riddance.   
She almost believes herself. 

Midnight comes and goes. They all welcome 2017 with welcome arms and raised glasses. She hasn't seen Bellamy in hours, and it seems that her mood gets better with every passing minute he stays hidden.   
She passes out on the couch with glitter itching her scalp and certainly too many necklaces hanging from her neck. 

Months pass, she goes on dates that end in awkward silence and tight lipped kisses. She goes to stuffy galas to show off her art and endures old men trying to go home with her. She doesn't think about Bellamy, they hooked up, tried to be friends and it went up in flames. He was just someone from her past, a lesson that made her realize what asses men could be. Nothing more. At least that's what she tell herself. 

"You're moping again." Raven says, lower lip jutting out.   
She sips her drink. "I don't want to talk about it."   
"You never do."  
Clarke sighs. "Raven—"  
"No it's ok. I understand. Your life sucks. You don't want comfort. You just want to ignore the fact that you're miserable and push me away." Clarke tries to interject, but Raven holds up a hand to stop her. "Don't. I know you don't deal well with feelings, but I hope you know I won't always be here for you to push away."  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Raven gets up and slings on her coat. "Nothing, Clarke. Nothing."  
"Raven, wait." She tries to grab her sleeve, but Raven shrugs her off and pushes through the door.   
She slumps in her seat and signals the bartender for another.   
Hands clamp onto her shoulders and her stomach jumps into her throat.   
"Clarke." Bellamy says, and she relaxes. But then the anger she's been struggling to suppress for months roars to the surface.   
"Get your hands off me." She growls, and he steps back in surprise. But it doesn't last long, and his usual smirk is back on his face as he slips into the seat beside her.   
"Leave me alone, Bellamy."   
He doesn't leave, instead he sits there and studies her.   
"What are you looking at?" She snaps, patience running thin.   
He sighs, happily. "Do you want to come back to my place?"  
She scoffs. "And do what? Have some good ol' hate sex?"  
He shifts closer, and she swallows. His voice is a grave whisper. "Oh Clarke, I think we both know you don't hate me."  
She's staring at his lips when she says, "Maybe. But we also both know you're too cowardly to do anything about it."  
It's a challenge, one she's hoping he'll try and prove wrong. But he's not smiling anymore, and she's genuinely concerned that she insulted him.   
"I'm leaving, Clarke."   
The trance is broken, and he sits back, running a nervous hand through his hair.   
"I'm sorry, what?"  
He sighs, the laughter gone from his voice. "The time we ran into each other, um, outside the bookstore?" I cringe at the memory.   
"Yeah," I say, not sure where he's going with this.   
"I had gone drinking after I found out my mother had passed away."  
My heart stutters. "Bellamy," I don't know how to comfort him. I don't know if he wants to be comforted. Are we friends? Do I have the right to do that?  
"It's ok, we weren't close. It's just, my sister, she was living with her. She's only 16, and they're threatening to send her into foster care. So I'm going to go live with her. In Chicago."  
Four states away.   
She doesn't meet his eyes. "You gotta do what you gotta do, right?"  
He shifts closer again, putting his hand on her knee. The anger from before had completely vanished.   
"The offer from before still stands." She doesn't know if she imagines the waver in his voice.   
"Ok."  
His eyes light up. "Yeah? Just like that?"  
She shoves him. "Don't make me sound so easy."  
He pulls her from her chair and puts an arm around her.   
He puts his mouth to her ear and murmurs, "Wouldn't dream of it."

The keep their goodbyes short in the morning. He gives her a lingering kiss that makes her toes curl.   
"I promise to call." He says softly, clinging to her as they hug.   
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Bellamy." She says without heat.   
He pulls away, and stares at her in that way that makes her knees weak.   
She smiles and shakes her head. "Take good care of your sister. And yourself." She gives him a hard poke in the chest.   
"Ow! Ok, ok!"  
"Good." She pecks his cheek. "Goodbye Bellamy."  
"Goodbye Clarke."

 

\-- 2 years later, New Year's Day --

 

She hears him before she sees him. The rasp of his voice sends a chill down her spine, and she spins and spots him at the same time his eyes land on her. She's running into his arms before she even thinks about it. He scoops her up and spins her, a grin spreading from ear to ear.   
"Do you want to come back to my place?" She asks, grinning, out of breath and shaking slightly.   
"Already trying to get into my pants. At least try to act like you like me for my personality."   
"Not even I have acting skills that great."   
He pushes her into the snow bank, and she pulls him in with her.   
"Isn't this bad taste?" He asks.   
"Of course." And she shoves a snowball down his shirt.


End file.
